A Canadian Heroine, Volume 2 eBook

CHAPTER XX.

Next morning Mrs. Costello and Lucia prepared to return
to the Cottage. They were to remain there till
the following evening, and then Mr. Bellairs proposed
to drive them down to the first village below Cacouna
at which the steamboats called, that they might there
embark for Moose Island, instead of being obliged
to do so at the Cacouna wharf, where they were certain
to meet inquisitive acquaintances. But a short
time before they were to leave their friends, Doctor
Hardy called.

He asked to see Mrs. Costello, and was taken into
the small room where Mrs. Bellairs usually passed
her mornings. No one else was present, and he
told her at once that he had called to ask her assistance
in an affair which he feared would be painful to her.

She smiled gravely. “I am too grateful
to you, doctor,” she said, “not to be
pleased that you should have anything to ask.”

“I don’t know,” he went on, “whether
Mr. Bellairs has told you the details of Clarkson’s
death—­I mean as to what appeared to influence
him in making his confession?”

“No,” she answered, rather wondering what
this could have to do with her.

“I think,” the doctor proceeded, “that
for all his brutality in other respects, Clarkson
was a good husband, and as fond of his wife and children
as if he had been a model of virtue. At all events,
his last thought was of his wife; and I rashly promised
to see that she did not suffer on his account.
But I can’t keep my promise without help.”

He paused, not at all sure how Mrs. Costello might
feel on the subject; and whether all that she and
her husband had suffered might have completely embittered
her towards the whole family of the murderer.

“Certainly,” she answered, “it would
be very hard to punish the innocent for the guilty;
and I have heard nothing but good of Mrs. Clarkson.”

The doctor felt relieved.

“I believe there is nothing but good that could
be told of her,” he said warmly. “I
have known something of her for a long time, and there
is not a more decent, respectable woman in the township.
It is a mystery how she ever married that wretched
fellow; but after she had married him she was a good
wife, and did what little she could to keep him out
of mischief. What is strangest of all, however,
is, that she is almost heart broken, poor soul, not
for his wickedness, but for his death.”

“Poor thing! But the circumstances of his
death must have made it more horrible to her?”

“It is a mercy that she does not seem to have
understood that. She is very ill, and seems not
to have had time to think yet—­except that
she has a vague idea that her children will starve.”

“They shall not do that. You shall tell
me what to do for them—­that is my affair.”

“Thank you. I thought you would feel for
her. But the plan I have in my mind depends chiefly
on Mrs. Morton, and I feel that it is asking a great
deal to expect her to do anything.”